


Miss Me

by FantasySwap



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternative Universe - Modern Day, Alternative Universe - No Pennywise, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Stan-Centric, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-01-22 11:17:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21301166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasySwap/pseuds/FantasySwap
Summary: He’s always known that this day was coming. He’s had his entire life to prepare for this particular year, but now that it has actually arrived he knows there’s nothing he could have done to make this any better. The only downside to being a year younger than the rest of them is that there will always be this transitionary period of time where they advance and Stan is still stuck in the same place, waiting, doing nothing with his life except moping and feeling lonely.The Losers are gone– his best friends have gone away to college. Bill is gone, and now Stan is all alone.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris
Comments: 37
Kudos: 136





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this could be triggering for some people so please read the tags and take care of yourself <3

Stan doesn’t fully understand what this year has in store for him until he’s standing at the school gates at the beginning of his senior year, surrounded by students, completely alone. 

He’s always known that this day was coming. He’s had his entire life to prepare for this particular year, but now that it has actually arrived he knows there’s nothing he could have done to make this any better. The only downside to being a year younger than the rest of them is that there will always be this transitionary period of time where they advance and Stan is still stuck in the same place, waiting, doing nothing with his life except moping and feeling lonely.

The Losers are gone– his best friends have gone away to college. _ Bill _ is gone, and now Stan is all alone.

Summer was incredible: they’d spent every moment they could together. If it wasn’t him and Bill alone, making the most of the time they had left together, it was all of them, cycling around town or hanging out in Ben’s room playing games with his shitty Xbox. Stan had been distantly aware of the future but he’d pushed it to the back of his mind, not wanting to be conscious of the overwhelming, crushing _ loneliness _that awaited him. He’d been dreading it, so he’d ignored it.

But he can’t ignore it anymore.

“Move, loser.” Someone matters angrily as they shoulderbarge him, and Stan realises he’s been standing still in the entrance for too long. He needs to get to class or he’s going to be late, and he doesn’t want to start his year off on the wrong side of all his new teachers. Sighing, he wraps his fingers around his bag straps anxiously and starts moving.

Class sucks. It always sucks, because he’s never been in the same class as any of his friends, but it sucks even more today because Stan knows they aren’t waiting for him in the cafeteria. He’s not going to come out of his class to find Bill waiting for him or Richie and Eddie bickering. Mike isn’t going to be sat at a table with a book in front of him, Beverly isn’t going to be smoking under the bleachers. Stan is alone.

He eats in the cafeteria with a table all to himself, because as much as he wants to hide himself away and cry, he can’t stand the thought of his food being around all those germs. He unpacks his things carefully, making sure to unfold a napkin over his lap. It’s the kind of thing he felt confident in doing with the Losers around, now, on his own, he realises how stupid it makes him look, how much of a target for mockery he’s making himself.

Stan is just about to bite into a sandwich - lettuce and tomato on rye bread with the crusts cut off - when there’s a loud bang to his left. He jumps, shocked, and looks over to see Henry Bowers sitting at Stan’s table with a couple of jocks from Stan’s grade with him. Of course– the world is not only enough of an asshole to have all of Stan’s friends move thousands of miles away from him, but also to have Bowers be held back a year. Fucking fantastic.

“What’s up, Uris? No frisbee today?” Bowers smirks and lays his palms flat on the table. There’s blood under his fingernails, Stan notices.

Stan had stopped wearing his yarmulke to school years ago; his parents hadn’t been happy about it but they’d understood at least. Being one of the only Jewish students in a place like Derry is an open invitation for bullying, and the Losers were already unpopular enough. He still wears it to Temple or if his grandparents are visiting, but it’s easier if he doesn’t draw any more attention to himself at school.

Stan starts to pack his things away without even taking a bite of his sandwich. Bowers isn’t going to just get bored and leave him alone, and Stan doesn’t want to hang around long enough to provoke him. Henry’s new friends are stood around the table in an intimidating semi circle, two people deep, and Stan has to elbow his way through the group to get past. He hears Henry’s laughter echoing around the room on his way out, and he knows this won’t be his last encounter with them.

He spends the rest of his lunch period in his math teacher’s classroom. It’s not ideal: anyone walking past can look in, see him all alone and know how much of a loser he is. This time, being a loser doesn’t feel like a badge of honour. It feels like something to be ashamed of. Stan wonders how much of his confidence came from his friends.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket at the end of the period and ends up texting Bill, even though he swore he wouldn’t do that. Bill had been pretty adamant about them having a long distance relationship and Stan had agreed because he was too pathetic and selfish to say no. If he was a better boyfriend he’d have let Bill experience college the way you’re meant to experience it, but instead he’s going to have one loose end connecting him to the shithole that is Derry, Maine.

_ Hey, _ he texts, ignoring his previous message that had gone unanswered. _ Hope everything is going okay! Hope you’re not too hungover lol. _

He sends it, fingernails tapping a nervous rhythm against the tabletop. The Losers have only been gone for a week– long enough to get settled into their dorms and get the hang of college life, right? Stan knows Bill would never deliberately ignore him unless for a really good reason, but it still stings. 

_ You’ll never guess who got held back a year… (Bowers) so yay me I guess, _ Stan continues typing, wishing he could pinpoint where the panic slowly creeping up his throat is coming from. Why does he suddenly want to burst into tears? _ I’m hiding out in a classroom for lunch. You better be cooler than me at college! <3 _

He turns his phone off before he can send another message and do any more damage. Bill had wanted a long distance relationship, not a desperate, clingy boyfriend with too much baggage. Still, he can’t stop himself from checking his phone every two minutes to see if he’s had a response yet.

He hasn’t.

He spends the rest of the hour in the classroom, eating slowly and reminiscing on their last summer together. When it’s time to leave, Stan feels a little bit like he’s going to throw up.

***

Home isn’t much better, but at least Stan doesn’t have to worry about physical violence. His parents have never approved of his sexuality or his relationship with Bill, and they thought the Losers were a bad influence on Stan, but they only ever want what’s best for him. 

Still, Stan never really knows what to say to them. Eating dinner is horribly awkward because it’s the only time they really spend as a family anymore, and the disconnect tapes wider every time, silent and uncomfortable. Stan listens to the clink of cutlery against plates as he separates the different food on his plate. 

“How was school?” His father asks gruffly, more to fill the silence than out of any actual curiosity. 

“It was good, dad.” Stan answers, voice soft. His mother clears her throat uncomfortably, and he wonders if they both know he’s lying. It seems obvious, but then they’ve never been very observant when it comes to Stan. 

“You’re going to try and make some new friends this year, aren’t you Stan?” His mother continues, sounding sad and concerned. Stan’s heart aches with regret that he can’t be the son she always wanted.

Before he can reply, his father speaks up. “We tried to warn you about having friends older than you, Stanley. Once they’re gone, you’re on your own.”

It’s a supremely unhelpful comment given the circumstances and Stan wishes he could say exactly that to his father, but he knows that would only upset his mother more. He shrugs, but that won’t be good enough for his father so he has to answer.

“Yeah, mom. I’ll make some new friends.” A smile smoothes over the worry lines on her face. The guilt on Stan’s shoulder gets a little heavier.

Hours later, Stan can’t sleep. He’s been lying on top of his bedsheets for hours now, just staring up at his cracked ceiling with thoughts swirling unstoppably inside his head. The thoughts are getting worse. Stan always thought he had them under control, but maybe they only died down a little when he was with his friends. Maybe now, all alone as he is, they’re going to come back, worse than ever. Stan doesn’t think he can cope with them a second time around. The first time almost killed him.

His phone beeps on his bedside table and Stan hurries to silence it lest his parents should hear and burst in angrily. It’s just gone three in the morning and if he wakes them up now his father will be pissed. 

It’s from Bill of course, in response to Stan’s messages hours earlier. He tries to ignore the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach and the spike of bitter jealousy that wants to demand why it took Bill so long to answer.

_ so hungover but so worth it :p _

_ Bowers sucks, i’m sorry :/ you’re 10x stronger than him _

_ wish you were here, Stan <3 _

It makes Stan smile fondly, shake his head at the idea of him being stronger than Henry Bowers, but mostly it just makes him sad. He misses Bill so much that it almost seems like something tangible, something all consuming. He’d give anything to be lying in bed with him right now, to be spooned by him, for Bill to stroke his hair and hum under his breath like he used to. 

He swipes across to unlock his phone but his fingers pause, hovering over the keyboard. Why does he suddenly feel so shy, so insecure about replying? That’s never how it’s been with the Losers; he’s never felt awkward or like he has to play things cool. They were always confident in their complete lack of coolness, so why now does Stan think he should wait to text Bill back, just so he doesn’t seem like a… like a loser?

He hopes they all know how lucky they are to be all together. Stan knows it’s always been their plan, all of them, to go to college together, Stan too, when it’s time for him to apply. He always saw it as a brilliant plan, a way for them to stay together for even longer, but he never knew how truly awful this part of it would be.

God, what is he thinking? This is _ Bill, _his boyfriend of nearly two years, his friend since childhood. He doesn’t need to play anything cool.

_ I wish I was there too x _

He waits with his phone in his hand, staring at the screen, so bright in the darkness of his room that his eyes start to water. Bill doesn’t reply. Stan spends the rest of the night with his eyes open and his head too busy to fall asleep. When he has to get up the next morning his body feels heavy, his movements lethargic. He wonders if this is what being dead feels like.

***

He texts Richie later that day because if anyone can cheer Stan up it’s him, with his ridiculous jokes and admittedly funny voices. It’s just a cursory message, hi, how are you, hope college doesn’t suck, that kind of thing. He’s known Richie all his life and there’s something unendingly comforting about being able to contact him any time, anywhere. Stan loves Bill, but Richie feels like home too. They all do.

He gets a reply from Richie much faster than Bill, and Stan tries not to look too much into that. 

_ Stan the man!! Lectures sucks but college is awesome it’s better than high school that’s for sure lmao _

_ When will you stop being an infant child and join us?? _

Stan shakes his head, amused. Of course Richie would be enjoying getting drunk and partying more than what he actually went there to do. In between brushing his teeth for a second time and combing his curls into something more socially acceptable, he types out a reply.

_ Please don’t get liver damage in your first year, Richie. How is everyone? Has Beverly given up smoking yet? _

His mother calls up the stairs for him to hurry up and Stan clenches his jaw instinctively, a nervous tic he hasn’t been able to rid himself of. There are dark bags under his eyes and his face is pale, but he doesn’t think his parents will notice so there’s nothing to worry about. Stan will be fine as long as no one starts prying.

_ Fat chance, Staniel, _ Richie’s reply reads. _ If anything she’s smoking more now that she can get weed literally everywhere. Eddie is still neurotic, Ben started some new wacko diet and Mike is still a nerd so nothing much has changed. _

Stan wants to be happy that his friends are still the friends he knows and loves, but there’s a tiny part of his brain niggling at him, reminding him that his friends are being happy and familiar without him. He’s missing out. This part of their lives - when they can party and smoke weed and get drunk - is going to pass them by and Stan is always going to be stuck a year behind, missing out, never quite catching up with them.

He’s starting to feel sick.

“Stanley!” His mother shouts again, irritated now. “You’re going to be late!”

His phone pings with a new message.

_ Shit sorry Staniel gotta go, have fun at kindergarten!! xoxo _

Stan doesn’t have any right to feel upset. He’d been just about to leave himself, and Richie is a college student now, albeit a bad one. He has bigger things to worry about than offending his friend. Stan isn’t even offended, it’s just… nothing. It’s just nothing, Stan decides. He’s being pathetic.

“Coming, mom.” Stan calls back, hurrying down the stairs. He just has time to say a quick goodbye to his parents before he’s hurtling out the door, desperate to, ironically, be on his own. 

The walk to school is only about a ten minute cycle from where Stan lives but he can’t be bothered to take his bike today, even though he’s running late. His backpack bumps against with every step he takes and after a few minutes of being outside, of feeling the wind in his face and hearing the slap of his shoes against the concrete, he begins to feel a little better. He can breathe again. Maybe he’s not so pathetic after all–

“Watch where you’re going, faggot.” Bowers speaks, and the next thing Stan knows he’s hurtling towards the floor. The back of his head smacks against the round with a painful thud and nausea builds up in Stan’s stomach instantly. Henry laughs at Stan’s attempt to stand up again and kicks him, his heavy clad boot making contact with Stan’s chest. It _ hurts _ and there will definitely be a bruise there tomorrow, but Stan is more worried about his bag. He can hear things breaking as it lays flat underneath him and he prays that his lunch will stay in tact. He can’t imagine how horribly messy it will be if he gets crumbs everywhere.

“Pussy,” Henry spits. He’s on his own this time, Stan notices, but it doesn’t matter. Bill was wrong when he said Stan was stronger than Bowers. Stan couldn’t be stronger than anyone. “You’re just a little bitch without your friends here to protect you, aren’t you Uris?”

Stan gets the ridiculous urge to laugh. Henry isn’t wrong.

“I’m glad they’re gone.” Henry kneels down beside Stan and grips his face harshly, nails digging into Stan’s cheeks. “Your slut friend and your faggot boyfriend– I’m glad they left. Now I just have to get rid of you too.”

He spits in Stan’s face before he leaves. Stan holds back from panicking until after Henry is out of sight, and then he bursts into tears. He’s filthy now; there’s dirt on his clothes and his bag, his hair is messy, there’s saliva on his face and it isn’t even his own. He wants to take a shower, scrub himself raw until his skin is pink and painful but _ clean. _

His fingers fumble with his phone as he retrieved it from his bag, thankfully not broken. He finds Bill’s contact quickly, easy after Bill being the first person he calls for so many years.

The phone rings and Stan waits, rubbing at the mess on his face with his sleeve. Right now he needs Bill to hold him and tell him everything is going to be okay, but he’ll settle for just hearing Bill’s voice.

But Bill doesn’t pick up. The phone rings and rings until an automated voice tells him to leave a message. Stan hangs up before he can even hear the beep. It’s early in the morning– way too early for Bill to be up and about, and he probably has his phone on silent. He wouldn’t just ignore Stan. He wouldn’t do that.

But it doesn’t matter how many times Stan repeats this in his head; the heaviness of insecurity has already set upon him and he knows he won’t be able to relax until he hears Bill’s voice.

He arrives to school late and gets a detention for missing first period. When his parents find out later that day they ground him, but it’s okay. There’s nowhere that Stan would want to go anyway.

***

Bill calls him back during his Spanish lesson and he has to let it go to voicemail, as desperately as he wants to rush out of the classroom and answer it. It feels wrong, getting upset that Bill didn’t answer him and then doing it himself, but he can explain as soon as this hour is over.

He manages to check his phone sneakily when his teacher’s back is turned and sees that Bill has sent him a follow up message; his heart soars at the gesture.

_ Sorry I missed you! Was asleep when you called. Hope you’re okay <3 _

It’s three in the afternoon, Stan thinks to himself. Were you asleep until just now? He hates that it’s his first thought.

_ No worries! _ He texts back. _ I’m in class now but are you free to call later tonight?? _

He gets an affirmative from Bill a few minutes later and, after typing out a quick, ‘can’t wait’ message, sits back in his chair. He feels lighter than he has done in weeks.

He’s on the edge of his seat all day, thrumming with nervous energy. This will be the first time he’s heard Bill’s voice in almost three weeks and he’s almost sick with excitement. He misses Bill like an extension of himself, a painful ache throughout his entire body that just keeps getting worse the longer they’re apart.

Later, when he’s finally alone in his room, he sends Bill a message asking if he’s ready to call. When he doesn’t get a reply in five minutes Stan frowns: it’s only just gone eight in the evening, there’s no way Bill will be asleep right now. Deciding to risk it, Stan calls anyway, growing more and more uneasy the longer it rings. Then, miraculously, Bill picks up.

Except it isn’t Bill.

There’s music playing so loudly in the background that Stan can feel it vibrating around in his skull, but it would take a lot more than that for him not to notice that the voice that says, ‘hello?’ is most definitely not his boyfriend’s.

“Who is this?” Stan asks instantly, digging his nails into the palm of his hand. The person on the other end of the line clears their throat awkwardly.

“Um, I’m Sam. I'm a friend of Bill’s. I just thought I should let you know he’s pretty… yeah, he’s _ really _ trashed right now. I don’t think he’s gonna be able to take your call.”

Stan’s heart sinks. The happy, lighthearted feeling that’s been with him all day pops like a bubble of air, leaving no trace of it behind. Bill forgot, or he didn’t care, and neither one is better than the other.

“Oh,” Stan swallows. “Um, okay. Thanks, I guess.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Sam says. “I’ll tell him to call you in the morning.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Stan says, a little louder now, a little more annoyed, he’s so sick of feeling so sad all the time. Anger would be better. Anything would be better. “Tell him his boyfriend called.”

There’s a pause in which Stan can hear the beat of the music and Sam’s heavy breathing, right against the speaker. Then he says, “Shit, dude, I’m sorry. He’s really stressed right now. He’s got, like, papers due and stuff. I’m sure he’s not ignoring–”

“Thanks, man.” Stan interrupts up, hanging up before Sam can finish the sentence, he doesn’t want to know what Bill is or isn’t doing. He doesn’t want to care.

The next morning is a Saturday and Stan wakes up blissfully late. There’s a message waiting for him from Bill.

_ Stan, shit I’m so sorry about last night. Call me when you see this. I love you x _

Stan forces tears back and dials Bill’s number, giving him the benefit of the doubt. In the light of day, with ‘I love you’ right in front of his face, it’s easy to feel forgiving. Bill’s stressed right now, like Sam said. Stan should cut him some slack.

“Stan,” Bill answers after a few rings. It’s the first time Stan has heard Bill’s voice since he left, but he doesn’t exactly sound glad to hear from Stan. He sounds tired and sick and hungover. “I’m so sorry about last night, I completely forgot and then Bev got us invites to this party and I didn’t even think.”

“It’s fine,” Stan says snappishly. “It’s whatever.”

“I didn’t mean to get so drunk.”

“Don’t apologise to me, Bill.” Maybe Stan is not as okay with it as he’d first thought. “You should just take care of yourself, is all.”

“What do you mean?” Bill asks.

“You’re getting trashed now? You’re gonna damage your body, Bill. I’m just saying, take care of yourself.”

“Everybody drinks loads at college, Stanley.” Bill laughs, but Stan recognises it as his fake laugh. Bill is hungover, probably has a terrible headache and now Stan is pissing him off. God, he’s such a terrible boyfriend.

“Jeez, sorry,” Stan says, though his heart isn’t in it anymore. “I didn’t mean anything by it, Bill.”

Bill sighs. “Jesus, Stan.” He says. “I really don’t need a lecture from you of all people, okay?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Stan bristles. How did this turn into an argument so quickly? Oh yeah, Stan picked a fight. 

“Nothing.” Bill says quickly. “Forget I said anything. How’s Derry?”

“Derry fucking sucks.” Stan snaps. “I want to know what you meant.”

“Just drop it, Stan! I feel like shit and you’re _ really _ not helping.”

“Well that’s your own fucking fault.” Stan cries, curbing himself so he doesn’t start yelling into the phone. He wouldn’t want to explain that one to his parents. They’d probably just think he was breaking up with Bill and throw a party.

“I mean,” Stan continues. “This is our first phone call since you left and you got drunk for it?”

“I _ forgot _ , okay? Will you just give me a _ fucking _ break, Stanley.” Bill stresses. Stan snaps his mouth shut, squeezing his eyes closed to stop the tears from falling. Bill is right. Stanley should give him a fucking break.

“Sorry,” He says, voice small and trembling. Then he hangs up.

Bill calls him back straight away but Stan ignores it. He contemplates turning off his phone but in the end he’ll always be a glutton for punishment, and he sits and waits for Bill to stop trying to reach him. A message pings through after the second time Stan doesn’t pick up.

_ I’m sorry, I’m an asshole. Can we please try that whole thing again? _

Stan ignores it.

_ Stanley? _

Stan ignores that too. Bill doesn’t send anymore.

***

The thoughts are back. They keep coming back, plaguing him in broad daylight now as well. _ You always were the lamest Loser. You’re holding Bill back. Why do you keep trying, they don’t want to talk to you. Give up. It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic. _

Stan doesn’t think he can ignore them anymore.

***

Time passes. He sorts things out with Bill, kind of, but they never actually address their fight. Stan exchanges a few texts with the other Loses and they even create a group chat, but it dies after a few days because what’s the point when six members are all in the same place? Bowers remains an asshole, and Stan breaks his promise to his mom. He doesn’t make any new friends.

A few weeks later Beverly sends the first message on the group chat in ages. Stan checks his phone in confusion and watches as more messages pour in from the other Losers, spamming Stan’s name and asking him if he’s free to FaceTime. Stan is never busy these days so he pushes his history assignment to the side and tells them he’s okay to call.

He feels weirdly awkward in a way he’s never felt around them before. It’s like he’s meeting a new group of people and he can’t be himself quite yet, but that doesn’t make any else because these are his best friends and he’s known them all for years. He knows he doesn’t have to be cautious or toned down for them, so why does it feel like he should be?

“Stan!” Richie is the first to speak, and the others all pop up on Stan’s laptop screen a few seconds later behind him. The quality is grainy and there’s a delay of maybe two seconds between their lips moving and their voices actually being audible, but they’re the Losers and Stan feels like he could cry. It’s so good to hear their voices again. He wishes he could just melt into the background and watch them interact because he’s too nervous to talk, but he doesn’t want to let go of this opportunity.

“Hey, guys.” He gives a small smile. “How’s college?”

“Oh my god, Stan, you’d _ love _ it here!” Beverly exclaims. Her hair is long now, and Stan wonders when she decided to grow it out. “There’s, like, a million nerdy societies you can join and there are parties all the time.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s a Jewish society and a bird watching society, so you’d be in heaven. Or, um, the equivalent.” Ben rubs the back of his neck. He looks good, like his workouts are working for him. He also has facial hair growing in a little bit which shocks Stan, though he doesn’t know why. He guesses he’ll always think of Ben as being young and soft.

“Did you join any?” Stan asks.

“Eddie Spaghetti joined a hypochondriac society!” Richie laughs and ducks when Eddie tries to hit him round the back of the head.

“It’s a disease prevention society, asshole, and you could do with joining it. Who knows how many STDs you’re gonna get.” 

“Aw, Eds, your mom can’t help it!” Richie grins his usual Richie Tozier grin. It’s… reassuring and painful to see at the same time.

“I joined a Doctor Who society,” Bill speaks up for the first time. “Mike joined with me, but I’m gonna be in charge by the time you join. I’ll make you my second in command, Stan.” He looks happy, hopeful, like he wants Stan to be happy as well. Stan smiles, tries to laugh, but it comes out sounding strangled and forced.

“Like you’d be in charge of Mike,” Stan scoffs. Bill gasps dramatically. He looks good as well. Stan wants to run his fingers through Bill’s hair, stroke his cheek, kiss his mouth and his eyelids and the tip of his nose. He’s reminded suddenly of the last date they ever went on before Bill left: Bill had taken him to an ice rink, which Stan had said was ridiculous because it was the middle of summer, but Bill hadn’t cared. They’d clung to each other all day, desperate not to fall over, slipping and sliding along the ice. Bill took him out for pizza afterwards and they’d ended up making out in Bill’s bedroom. Stan had felt like crying, back then– something deep inside himself had known it would be the last time he got to kiss Bill.

“How’s Derry?” Mike asks, probably picking up on his unenthusiasm. Stan blinks in surprise, stuck for what to say.

“Um,” he laughs nervously. Bill frowns. “Derry is… Derry, y’know. Same as ever. Quieter without you guys, and I’m sure everyone feels safer without Trashmouth Tozier running around, but pretty much the same.” Bill’s frown deepens. 

“What about you– how are you, Stan? Are you sleeping okay?” Bill says, but Stan knows what he’s really asking. He wants to know if Stan’s thoughts are back, if he can stand to look at himself in the mirror, if he can walk past a crooked picture frame without having a panic attack. He can’t possibly tell Bill the truth, not when he knows the answer Bill wants to hear.

“I’m fine,” Stan smiles, trying to be convincing. “It’s boring as fuck without you guys around, but I’ll be there soon. Henry Bowers is still terrorising me and the rest of the eighth grade but what’s new, right?”

“Bowers?” Eddie asks, elbowing Richie out of the way so he can see the screen. “He’s still there?”

Stan swallows, looks to Bill who, he now realises, is looking a tad guilty. “Uh, no. He, um, he got held back. He’s in my grade now, I guess. Lucky me.”

So Bill hasn’t told them. That’s… confusing. It’s not the sort of thing he would need to keep secret, which means he either forgot or it just didn’t cross his mind to mention it. Ouch.

“Shit, Stan, that sucks.” Ben winces in commiseration. “I’m sorry you have to go through that alone. I remember when I was on my own and he was after me– you guys saved me.”

Beverly reaches over to rub his shoulders - which is not new, really, everyone in the Losers Club shows physical affection to each other - and then plants a kiss on the corner of his mouth, which is… less normal. 

“We saved each other, babe.” She murmurs, fingers fiddling with the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Um, am I missing something?” Stan squeaks, confusion and embarrassment mixing together. He’s beginning to notice how intimidating it feels to have them all together on one screen and him alone on the other, how disconnecting it feels from all his closest friends.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe we forgot to tell _ Stan.” _ Bev hisses, looking between Bill and Ben like she wants some sort of support. All Stan can do is sit there, cheeks burning red, feeling like he belongs anywhere but here. “Ben and I got together a while ago, Stan. I can’t believe we didn’t tell you. Things have just been so hectic over here, y’know?”

“Yeah, of course!” Stan brushes it off, because what else is he supposed to do? “Don’t worry about it. When did you get together?”

“Um,” Bev pauses to think. “That Halloween party, I think?”

A month. This has been going on for a month and he didn’t even know that two of his best friends were dating. No one told him. That’s awful.

“That’s great, you guys! I’m so happy for you. You make a very attractive couple.” He says.

“Careful, Uris, Big Bill’s gonna get jealous. He’s been jerking off on his own for too long now, I’m surprised he hasn’t creamed his pants at the sight of you.” Richie grins.

“Richie!” So many people complain all at once that Stan can’t discern a single voice. Bill has gone very red and is watching Stan with a fond, amused look in his eye. Stan wants to return it so badly.

“Thanks for that, Rich,” he rolls his eyes. “But don’t worry. Ben and Bev have nothing to worry about from me. Hey, I’m really sorry but I have to get this history assignment done. Can we talk later?”

There’s a silent pause where it feels a little like nobody speaks, as though he's suggested something much worse than he actually has. Then Mike leans over Bill’s shoulder in order to take control of the laptop and smiles at Stan reassuringly.

“Of course, Stanley.” He says. “It was really great talking to you. Let us know when you’re free to call. Good luck with your assignment.”

There’s a chorus of goodbyes but Stan is too busy watching Bill to pay attention to any of them. He’s watching Stan right back, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth with his eyebrows furrowed. Stan wants to run the pad of his thumb over the skin there, smooth it out until Bill is giggling and happy, but he can’t.

‘Let them know when he’s free to call’? Isn’t that all he’s been doing for months now? It isn’t Stanley that’s been too busy to talk. 

As soon as he hangs up, he gets a text from Bill, probably to ask if he’s okay or if he wants to talk one on one, but he doesn’t even look at it. If he tries to talk anymore tonight he’s going to burst into tears and that will just be embarrassing for everyone involved.

He needs to clear his head. He needs to feel the wind ruffling his hair and a chill on his skin to know that he’s still alive, that his heart is still beating. He hurries down the stairs without pausing to grab a jacket, heading for the door, but his father stops him before he can leave.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Stan doesn’t see him at first and he startles when the voice comes out of nowhere. His father is sitting at the kitchen table, alone, a drink in front of him. Stan’s gaze flickers between the drink and his father’s face, 

“I just wanted to go for a walk, dad.”

“You’re grounded.” His father says, twirling his finger around the rim of the glass again and again. The gesture is almost hypnotic. 

“I just wanted to go for a walk.” He says again, but this time it’s barely more than a whisper. He hasn’t been crying but already his throat feels scratchy and sore, his eyes puffy. Will his father be able to tell? The thought that his father might not even care, more than anything, makes him angry.

“Go back to your room.” He says, leaving no room for argument. Stan’s temper flares.

“I just want to go for a _ walk. _ What’s _ wrong _ with that?” His father looks up in surprise. Stanley Uris never argues back. Stanley Uris never raises his voice. Stanley Uris never does anything except exactly what he’s supposed to do. How long can he keep that act up for?

“What’s _ wrong _ with that,” his father stands up suddenly. Stanley stumbles backwards, surprised, heart pounding, a little scared. “Is that I said _ no.” _

At his raised voice, Stan’s mother rushes in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on the front of her shirt. “What’s going on?” She asks, confused, looking between the, hesitantly like she doesn’t know whose side she’s going to have to take.

“Your son is trying to skip out on his punishment.” His father tells her, taking a sip of his drink. Stanley flushes, embarrassed at having been dismissed so thoroughly like he’s still ten years old, desperate for his father’s approval. He’s not.

“I’m almost eighteen years old.” He spits, stepping away from the door. He wants to leave more than ever now but if he runs out of the house after having an argument with him the consequences will be even worse when he gets back. Even angry and upset, Stan knows that much. “You can’t keep acting like I’m going to be under your thumb forever.”

“No, of course not.” His father sneers. “If it was up to you you’d be in New York getting drunk with your _ loser _ friends.”

Stan goes still. The remark, though he knows his father has no idea the extent of his insult, hits a little too close to home. Stan's eyes tear up embarrassingly quickly and he hurries upstairs, slamming the door to his room and ignoring his mother calling after him. Is that what everyone thinks of him, even his own parents? That he’s just the odd one out, the one that didn’t get to go to New York? Does everyone else know that he was abandoned too?

_ Of course they do, _ the thoughts return, drifting across his mind like whispers of a memory he can’t quite grasp. _ They left you. You’re a coward. You’re pathetic and everyone knows it. _

_ This is how it’s always going to be. You, alone, scared. Nothing’s going to change. This is as good as it's ever going to get. _

***

The next morning Stan can’t get out of bed. He wants to, wants to get up and about and go to school in time to see his friends, but he can’t get himself to move. His mind is blank, vacant. He feels suffocated by the weight of his sadness, his loneliness, his desperation to feel anything other than _ this. _

His father is already at work and, to his surprise, his mother comes in to say that he doesn’t have to go to school today. She must be feeling bad about the fight yesterday, and how she didn’t do anything to stop it. It’s not her fault, he recognises distantly, but he feels so empty that he just doesn’t care anymore.

He stays in bed for a couple of hours, eyes open but unseeing. Life moves on around him the way it always does. Sunlight filters in through his blind and the postman visits, but Stan can’t find the energy to answer the door. He’s not hungry, not tired, not anything anymore. _ This is good as it’s ever going to get. _

Later in the afternoon he breaks up with Bill. He doesn’t know if he feels sad about it or not: all his emotions are too jumbled around for him to pinpoint any one. He will later probably, or maybe he won’t, he just doesn’t know anymore.

He calls Bill around midday with no intention of actually talking to him. The call will go to voicemail, Stan thinks, and then he can leave Bill an apologetic message and can go back to lying down and doing nothing, being no one.

Except that doesn’t happen. The impossible happens. Bill picks up.

“Stan!” He sounds excited to talk to Stan. “What’s up? Are you in school?” When Stan doesn’t - can’t - answer for a few seconds, Bill speaks again, less upbeat now. More concerned. “Stanley?”

“I can’t do this.” Stan whispers, clears his throat, tries again. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Stan?” There's shuffling on the other end like Bill is moving somewhere else. Stan hopes the Losers Club is there with him so he won’t be alone. “Stan, what do you mean? What’s going on?”

“This isn’t working, Bill.” A tremble works its way into Stan’s voice. “Us. I don’t think we’re working anymore.”

“Stan, what are you talking about?” Bill sounds more alert now, more panicked. Stan can hear Bill’s breathing quicken over the speaker.

“I’m sorry, Bill. This was never going to work, long distance.”

“Stan, Stan baby, no.” Bill says, stricken. “Don’t say that, please.”

“I’m sorry Bill.” Stan says again, not sure what else there is to say. 

“Hey, wait, listen. Things have been crazy and I– I’ve been an asshole. I know, okay? I know that, but I’ll be better. I’ll call you, okay? Everyday, I’ll call everyday, and we can FaceTime more. I’ll come visit at the weekends. Just– please, let’s just talk about this first. Stan?”

“There’s no point, Bill.” Stan wishes Bill wouldn’t make this so hard. What more is there to say? “We’re not working anymore.”

“_ Stan,” _ Bill sounds even worse, panicky, voice thick with tears. “I love you, please. I’m– I’m coming back in three weeks for Christmas break. Lets just talk about it then, okay? Please? I love you, Stanley.”

_ Good as it’s ever– _

“I’m sorry, Bill.”

_ –going to get. _

Stan hangs up.

***

“Mom,” Stan says. “I’m going to take a bath.”

Stan is alone in the house. His parents are away. His friends are away. His boyfriend - ex boyfriend - is away. This is as good as Stan’s life is ever going to get.

In his mind, Stan’s mother is sitting in an armchair by the fire, watching television with his father. Stan is there too, much smaller and younger and happier. His father loves this version of him.

‘Okay, Stan,’ this version of his mother says. She smiles when she looks at him, and her expression is so warm and open that he knows he could go to her with his problems and that she’d make them all better. ‘We’ll be down here waiting for you, honey. Whenever you’re ready, come and join us.’

Stan starts to cry. Tears run down his face and he doesn’t wipe them away. 

“Thanks, mom.” He tells his imagination. “I will. I promise.”

Climbing the stairs feels like it takes years, feels like climbing a mountain. Their bathroom is at the end of the hallway; it’s entirely white tile, the floor and walls and ceiling. The bathroom and sink and toilet are all white. Stan is going to get it dirty.

He’s glad he got to say goodbye to Bill, even if it wasn’t how he wanted. His parents won’t be home for hours. Stan is all alone.

So, alone in his house for the last time, Stanley Uris takes a bath.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry this took such a long time! Hope you enjoyed! <3

Stan wakes up in a hospital. He knows instantly that’s where he is despite having spent nearly no time in Derry town’s shitty hospital; the sight is unmistakable. The blinding white light flickering above his head is so headache inducing that it can only be a hospital.

There’s a dull ache behind his eyes like a nail being hammered into his skull, and when he tries to bring his hand up to massage his temples, he finds himself all caught up in wires. His heart pounds unsteadily in his chest and the beeping on the monitor next to his bed spikes suddenly. Stan swallows, wincing; his mouth is so dry that just the bobbing of his throat feels like he’s swallowing sand.

Stan figures that, despite the pain his whole body seems to be in, there are worse places to be. At least his hospital bed will be relatively clean– he hopes. What if they didn’t clean the sheets before they put him in this bed? What if he’s been lying here unconscious for weeks and weeks, unable to wash himself?

Stan lifts his head up as far as he can manage and looks down at his own body. Most of it is covered by a thin, scratchy hospital blanket, but his arms are resting limply above it, bandages wrapped tightly around both of his wrists. If he squints, Stan can see the dark stain of what he did to himself.

“Stanley?” Says a quiet, soft voice to his right. He recognises the sound of his mother instantaneously. She sounds so scared, so hurt, so _ betrayed, _ that Stan feels another psychical pain in his chest. It’s bad enough that he tried this in the first place, but it’s worse that he failed.

“Mom,” the first time he tries to say it his voice fails him, and he ends up falling back against the bed, body wracked by heaving coughs. When he tries again, his mom is already leaning over the bed with a glass of cool water pressed to his lips. It feels like salvation as it slides down his throat. Stan can breathe again.

“Mom…” he tries again, not sure what to say. He wants to apologise, to say that he didn’t mean it, but that would be a lie. He wants her to say that she can make it all better just like she always did when he messed up as a child. He wants her to stroke his hair back and sing him to sleep.

“Shh,” she comforts him, and it’s so familiar, so safe, that Stan could cry. “I’m here, baby. You’re okay now. You can sleep.”

Stan isn’t entirely sure what she means until he realises that his eyes are slipping shut and her voice is bouncing around in his head like an echo in a tunnel. He doesn’t know how long he’s been unconscious for but it seems surprising that he’s so eager to sleep as soon as he’s woken up.

It’s impossible to fight, though, so Stan lets the sound of his mother’s voice guide him down.

***

When he next wakes up his head feels a little clearer, and it’s a good thing too.

He’s alone now, and his room seems even smaller and emptier than before. It’s lifeless in a way that it wasn’t whilst his mother was still in here with him. Stan feels his bottom lip tremble and he wills himself to keep a straight face, to not cry as soon as he’s awake again. Who knows what they’re going to think of him now, what they’re going to make him do, where they’re going to send him…

There’s a commotion outside his door, and Stan lets his head loll on the pillow to get a better look. The machinery is blocking out most of his view so he can’t properly see what’s going on, but they’re speaking loudly enough that Stan easily recognises the voice. He thinks he’d recognise that voice anywhere.

“Just let me in, _ please!” _ Bill cries, his voice creeping closer to the frustrated tone Stan remembers, tinged with desperation, drenched with guilt. “Just for five minutes? I won’t wake him up if he’s sleeping. I just want to _ see _ him.”

The other voice is quieter, more subdued; Stan can’t work out who they are or what they’re saying, but he’s too busy panicking about Bill showing up out of nowhere to take him by surprise. 

Although, is it really a surprise if Stan has no idea how long he’s been unconscious? Bill said he was coming back for Christmas break– is it that time already? Did Bill come back and show up at his house, expecting to find Stan there waiting for him, only to discover his boyfriend had been hospitalised for trying to fucking kill himself?

Ex boyfriend, he reminds himself. He broke up with Bill. God, what had he been thinking? He should have waited. He should have at least held off until the wound had scabbed over a little and Bill didn’t care so much about his stupidly high maintenance ex boyfriend. Then Stan could have done this without making too much of an impact. As it is, he’s now culpable for any pain he caused Bill, any guilt he’s feeling. God, Stan couldn’t even get _ this _ right.

“Don’t tell me to leave, I’m not fucking leaving until I see him!” Bill yells, once echoing through the corridor outside. Stan’s breathing hitches and the heart monitor to the side of his bed beeps, unexpectedly out of rhythm. The hallway falls deadly silent all of a sudden and Stan sinks back into his pillows, feeling, for some odd reason, like he wants to crawl under his covers and hide from the monster under his bed.

This time, the only monster is Stan himself.

There’s a flurry of movement then: the quieter voice murmurs something and there’s no response before footsteps start heading in his direction. Stan curls his fingers to clutch at the covers tightly before pain spikes through his arm and makes his head throb. _ Idiot, _ he tells himself.

A nurse appears in his doorway. She’s young, with kind eyes and a soft smile. Stan wonders if she smiles like that for all the patients, or just the ones that try to off themselves.

“Hey there,” she approaches confidently, like she knows what she’s doing, and for whatever reason it eases Stan’s nerves. He lets her fiddle with the machinery and check on his reflexes before his morbid curiosity gets the better of him and he has to blurt it out.

“Was that Bill?” He asks, even though it isn’t the question he wants to ask. He wants to ask what she said, how long he’s been there, what he’s told her, what he’s told Stan’s _ parents… _

He can’t ask any of that. All he can do is stare up at her with wide, baleful eyes as he waits for her to answer.

“I told him he could only come in if you wanted to see him.” She tells Stan, glancing over her shoulder and out of the window to where Bill is still waiting, tapping his foot against the floor in anxious anticipation. He appreciates her looking out for Stan’s best interest, but now he’s left with a horrible decision to make.

He wants to see Bill. He really, really wants to see him. There’s nothing he would find more comforting right now than sinking into Bill’s arms, resting against his chest and listening to his heartbeat. Bill always knew how to calm him down after he had a panic attack or during a particularly bad episode.

But how can he ask for Bill to come here and comfort him after what he did? Shame curdles in his stomach and he can feel his cheeks heating up with a humiliated flush. This woman knows what he did. His parents know. _ Bill _ knows. They’ve all seen just how weak Stan is. He’d promised Bill he wouldn’t let the thoughts get too bad, but he hadn’t even lasted three months before they got so bad he tried to kill himself. He’s made himself a liar.

And God, how can he even think about facing Bill after that phone call? At the time, Stan had been convinced it was the right thing to do, and part of him still thinks that. He couldn’t have done what he did with Bill still acting as his doting boyfriend. He needed to give Bill some closure if nothing else.

But doing it over a phone call? Bill had begged and pleaded: he’d been close to crying, and Stan had hung up on him, had refused to listen or give him a chance to speak. He knows Bill’s fears and insecurities about losing loved ones, but he’d done it anyway. 

Stan really is the monster here.

“Don’t let him in,” Stan pleads. “I can’t see him right now. Please make him go away.”

The woman nods and smiles again, sadly this time, like she won’t enjoy delivering the bad news. He feels guilty all over again - _ some other person’s life you’re fucking up, can you do _ nothing _ right? _ \- but he swallows past the bile in his throat and closes his eyes.

“He said that?” Bill’s voice is considerably quieter when it comes next, like he’s had all the air punched out of him and now he’s in the process of deflating. There’s another murmur of affirmation and then retreating footsteps, slow and heavy. Stan closes his eyes against the tears that build. Two of them slip down his cheeks anyway, one on either side. It takes him a long time to fall asleep.

***

Richie slips in a few minutes after Stan’s mom leaves the room, on the third day of Stan being conscious. He isn’t expecting it, but he’s also pleasantly surprised to find he doesn’t want to shrivel up in shame and die like how the thought of seeing Bill had made him feel, so he doesn’t object when Richie sits down in the chair next to his bed.

“Dude, it’s been hell getting in here.” Richie complains straight away. It’s comforting for him to act as though nothing has changed, if a little obvious. “Your mom wouldn’t let me anywhere near you.”

“M’not surprised.” Stan mumbles, his voice a little croaky from being out of use for so long. “She’s hated you ever since my bar mitzvah.”

Richie grins, a slow, steady smile that spreads from left to right. He’s pleased Stan is playing along with the game.

“Maybe, Stanny, but it won your heart and that’s all that matters.” Richie tells him, voice high pitched as he leans over to squeeze Stan’s cheeks. Stan jerks backwards, grinning despite himself.

“Don’t touch me,” he grumbles, a parody of what he might have said genuinely a few years earlier. “I don’t know where you’ve been.”

“That’s for sure.” Richie waggles his eyebrows up and down. Stan cringes in mock disgust.

“Hey, listen man.” Richie says suddenly. His tone isn’t serious exactly, because Richie doesn’t really know how to be serious, but it’s different to how it was a second ago. There’s a certain level of forced casualness now has Stan on the edge of his metaphorical seat, waiting for the punchline.

“I know it must suck not being able to see my gorgeous bod all day every day,” Richie continues, hand trailing down his chest faux provocatively. “But it’s not a matter of life or death. I can sext you whenever you want, honey bear.”

Stan rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch up into a small smile. He gets what Richie is trying to say, and it’s a relief that he’s saying it in such a roundabout way. Stan doesn’t think he could handle Richie of all people telling him that he fucked up.

“You’re gross, Richie. See if you can grow some facial hair and then maybe I’ll consider it.” Stan replies, holding up a weak arm to poke Richie’s side. He squeals and curls up to protect himself.

“If you weren’t literally attached to a heart monitor right now, you’d so be going down.” Richie threatens, but he ruins the fear factor by giggling his way through the sentence. Stan is just beginning to relax and accept Richie being here, being the first Loser to see him after the incident, when he hears a muffled cough from nearby and his mother’s voice slowly getting closer.

“Shit,” Richie stands up suddenly. “I better go before your mom sees me. Mornings after are so awkward, y’know?”

“Get out of here, you pervert.” Stan finds himself properly laughing for the first time in so long, smiling so wide that his cheeks hurt. Richie blows him a kiss, salutes aggressively and ducks out of the door. Stan counts to five before his mother enters, tucking her phone into her pocket.

“Was that Richie Tozier I saw just now?” She asks, mouth thinning into a fake smile that Stan can only find hilarious now. “Such a nice boy. I wonder what he’s up to these days…”

***

Therapy sucks, Stan decides, but not as much as he thought it would suck before he started. 

His therapist is a middle aged man with a bald spot and a pair of thin framed glasses perpetually hanging off the edge of his nose. He always seems very friendly and happy to see Stan, except when he’s forcing Stan to take his meds. Then he can be a terrifying, unopposable force. 

It isn’t that Stan forgets. When asked to start a new routine, Stan rarely forgets anything about it. It’s just the way he’s wired. He just… doesn’t like the new meds he’s supposed to take. He doesn’t like the obnoxious blue colour, he doesn’t like the shape that makes them uncomfortable to swallow and he doesn’t like the fact that they’re supposed to cure his depression because he couldn’t do that himself.

To Stan, his new pills are a sign of his failures, a sign that he is not and may never be normal. Whenever he asks how long he’ll have to continue taking them for, his doctor avoids his question or says something like ‘however long you need to’. Stan knows she’s just trying to help, but it makes him feel like shit.

He has to take the pills two times a day, one at breakfast and one with his dinner. Stan has always kept a regular meal schedule and being in a hospital has helped him keep that up, but swallowing down the pill after he’s finished everything on his plate is his least favourite part of the day.

He has to go to one-on-one therapy every other day, which gives him an opportunity to bitch about everything that’s pissed him off so far. Karl says it’s normal to be angry in his situation, but that it’s important he turns his anger into something positive rather than something self destructive, lest they have a repeat incident.

Therapy also gives him an opportunity to talk about Bill. Stan supposes there are a lot of issues surrounding that one - his parents’ disapproval, Bill’s seeming disinterest in him, Stan’s unhealthy codependency - but the thing their sessions always circle back to is the phone call.

“Could Bill have said anything to change your mind?” Karl will ask, tilting his head understandingly.

“No,” Stan will reply. “At that point, my mind was made up.”

“So why did you call him first?” Karl will continue, a little like a cross examination but less unfriendly. “Why not give him that peace of mind for a little longer?”

“Because I’m selfish,” Stan won’t say. “And if I was going to die, I wanted his voice to be the last thing I heard.”

“To try and give him closure,” Stan will say, and Karl will smile because they both know that was a lie, like he knows exactly what is going through Stan’s head. It’s a step in the right direction, Stan thinks, that he’s even acknowledging these things at all.

So, yeah, overall therapy still sucks, but it has its highlights.

***

Ben and Beverly are the next Losers to appear. Stan can’t help but feel a little devastated that Bill hasn’t tried to come back yet, but he tells himself it’s for the best. He isn’t ready to see Bill yet, and maybe Bill just isn’t ready to see him either.

Stan is a little worried at first that things will be awkward, What with the latest development in their relationship, but being with Ben and Beverly now is just like it used to be. There’s nothing uncomfortable about the way they interact. They just hold hands a lot more now, and honestly it’s cute. Stan is glad they’re happy. It’s a lot easier to be genuinely happy for someone when they’re showing you they love you.

Maybe that makes Stan a bad person. Maybe he’ll bring that up with Karl in their next session.

“Hey, loser.” Bev says after a few beats of empty, awkward silence. Stan can read the discomfort in the tense lines of her body, her stiff posture in the chair next to his bed. Ben looks marginally better, but his smile doesn’t meet his eyes. Stan feels a sudden rush of guilt and he’s afraid for a moment that this morning’s breakfast will come back up again.

“What’s up, Marsh?” Stan replies in a similar tone, one that probably sounds just as uncomfortable. His smile softens into something a little more relaxed when he turns to Ben. “Ben, hey. Congratulations, by the way. Who made the first move?”

Ben opens his mouth to say something but Bev interrupts, voice brash and panicked. Stan blinks, startled, as Ben watches reproachfully. “No dice, Uris. You want to know the whole story, you’re gonna have to get out of here first.”

At first Stan doesn’t know what to think. He feels vaguely embarrassed, sure, and even more ashamed of himself than he did before, but also oddly touched by her utter conspicuousness. 

All he can think of to say in that moment is, “Have you been spending too much time with Tozier?”

Bev snorts, a surprised, explosive sound that probably shocks her just as much as it does Stan or Ben, who shakes his head before reaching into the rucksack half open on his lap.

“Before you complain,” Ben starts carefully, holding up a bunch of sheets of paper for Stan to skim over. “Just know that we had to go see all of your teachers to go and collect all of your homework. I think we’ve suffered enough.”

Stan wants to throw his head back and groan, roll his eyes and complain like they’re probably expecting him to, like he would if he were putting on an act. But he’s tired of putting on an act all the time, and he’s too exhausted to fake a reaction anymore. The corner of his mouth tilts up in a small, sad smile. 

“Thanks, guys.” He says. As he reaches out to take the papers, he notices Bev cross eyeing the bandages around his arms. Stan flushes, heat colouring his cheeks.

“Your mom thought it might be a good idea for you to…” Ben trails off, clearly not knowing how to complete that sentence. Ben knows what he means. Karl said the same thing.

“She didn’t like my smoking weed idea. Go figure, huh?” Bev rolls her eyes. It gets a laugh out of Stan, which makes her beam excitedly, eyes shining. There’s a few seconds where she pretends to cough and wipes the back of her hand across her eyes; Ben wraps an arm around her waist until she’s back to normal, looking suspiciously close to tears himself. Stan’ heart aches.

“So,” Bev starts, fingers tapping against her knees in an irregular rhythm. “We’ve got to give you all the gossip. Richie has done so much shit that you need to hear about.”

Stan lies back on his pillows and just listens.

***

Talking to his parents is considerably harder. Stan can’t seem to conjure up the words to explain how he was feeling, what he was thinking, when he did what he did. In the same way, his parents don’t seem to know how to act around him anymore. His mom cries a lot, clutches his hand and tells him that they both love him so much. It makes Stan tear up every time.

His father is much more complicated. For as long as Stan can remember, he and his dad have been at odds about one thing or another. His sexuality, Bill, his plans after graduation… all of them were under fire at one point or another. Now it’s as though his father thinks he can’t talk about _ anything _ lest he incite another incident. Stan hates it.

What happened wasn’t his father’s fault, and whilst he would appreciate having to deal with less scrutiny on a day to day basis, he doesn’t want it to happen because of this. God, is it bad if he says he doesn’t want anything to change? Stan knows that’s an impossible goal but he can’t help wondering, just briefly, if he couldn’t make it work somehow. He could tell everyone that this has just been one big prank– _Stanley Uris_ _commit suicide? Don’t be ridiculous! What a joke, he wouldn’t have the guts._

In the end it doesn’t matter. His father remains a distant, intimidating figure with whom Stan can’t hold a conversation to save his life. Things with his mother have been improving rapidly since they had a long, heartfelt conversation about Stan’s Feelings, but any such attempt with his father would lead to an awkward, stagnant lull.

A few hours after one of Stan’s therapy sessions, his father turns up. It’s usually his mother, or they come together, but this time she had a shift at work and she’s already had enough time off because of him, Stan had encouraged her to go to work. He’s kind of regretting it now though, because it leaves him and his father sitting in contemplative silence until visiting hours are over.

Or at least, that’s how Stan expects it to happen. That’s how it’s happened with his father until now. He’s not anticipating any change– but a change is exactly what he gets.

The first nudge of his father’s hand against his own has Stan startling, whipping his head round as though he’s scared of the contact. His father flushes and looks down almost angrily, but he doesn’t move his hand, which only serves to confuse Stan further.

“You know,” he says suddenly, voice gruff with feigned indifference. “When you were a little boy, probably seven or eight, you always used to run off. Wherever we took you, even if it was just to the local baseball field, you used to try your hardest to get away from us.” Stan pretends not to notice how he reaches up and brushes a tear from his cheek.

“Your mom and I figured you were too old for one of those child harness things. What would the neighbours have thought, right? But in the end it wasn’t necessary. All it took was me holding your hand.” At this, he reaches out and settles his palm over Stan’s limp hand. It’s not so much a decision as it is an offering: Stan can pull away or he can hold his father’s hand, wipe away his own tears or let them be seen for what they are. 

Stan knows that the truth hurts, but sometimes it’s the only option. He flips his palm upwards so that he can clasp his father’s hand, hold it tight and swallow past the lump in his throat. Some change just takes time, Stan thinks.

“I wonder,” Stan’s father says, dreamily, as though speaking to himself. “When I stopped holding your hand. I wonder.”

***

To Stan’s surprise, Eddie and Mike show up together. He isn’t sure why exactly it surprises him, other than Stan’s own, probably flawed, belief that Eddie was more friendly with Richie and Mike was more friendly with Bill and himself.

Then he realises that Mike can’t visit with Bill because Stan won’t let Bill in, because he’s a terrible boyfriend, a terrible friend and a terrible person. That alone is enough to get their visit off to a bad start. Then they pull out his homework.

“Dude, this is why you should never take days off school.” Eddie speaks at an impossible speed, and it’s a relief to see someone else acting normally. “It’s just not worth it, y’know? Look at all this goddamn algebra! I can’t believe you enjoy this shit.”

“Enjoy probably isn’t the right word.” Stan speaks with a fond smile. Thankfully, before he and Eddie can get into it over the merits of math in general, Mike lays a hand on Eddie’s shoulder.

“The objective is to cheer him up, Eddie.” Mike grins, but underlying his words is a wave of anxiety, nerves that he’ll say the wrong thing. The unspoken end to his sentence has Stan’s lips twitching upwards despite himself, and it seems to set Mike at ease which is a good thing.

“So you brought my schoolwork? Dude, just pull the plug now.” Stan quips, propping himself up on his pillows again. It’s good to see these two again. Eddie is still short and angry, Mike is still tall and soothing; it’s a relief to see that not everything has changed in his absence.

“You’re not hooked up to a plug, dumbass. It would be much nicer to have a lethal injection into an IV or something. Go out in style, y’know?” Eddie’s motormouth seems a little rustier than usually, a little stilted, like he’s holding himself back. Stan can’t resent him for it. He wouldn’t know how to act in this situation either.

“So, like, how’s college?” Stan asks, scratching idly at the scars on his wrists, his bandages had come off the other day and ever since he’s been mesmerised by them, the way the skin puckers into a thin white line. It makes him feel sick to his stomach but, like a car crash waiting to happen, he can’t drag his eyes away.

“Like school, but there’s more work and you get drunk more often.” Mike grins at Stan.

“Speak for yourself,” Eddie interrupts, then jerks his thumb at Mike. “Party monster. Who would’ve guessed? Him, Bev and Richie are the worst designated sober friend, for real.”

“Let it go!” Mike laughs. Stan can’t help but giggle along with them. With his friends in front of him like this, happy and spending time with him, it’s hard to be angry or jealous of them. “It was one time! And Bill got you home safe anyway.”

Stan’s grin dies on his face. He’s been trying his best not to think about Bill or he’d be doing it obsessively; he desperately wants to see him but how can he? After everything he put Bill through, after what he did, how can he ever look him in the eye again?

Eddie and Mike shift uncomfortably, sensing the sudden change of atmosphere. Mike wraps a hand around his stomach and digs his nails into his other arm, a nervous gesture that he hasn’t been able to shake since childhood. At least some things stay the same, he thinks, even if they’re the bad things.

“Have you, like, spoken to Bill recently?” Eddie asks cautiously. Stan knows they know that he hasn’t, because he can picture Bill getting drunk and complaining about it, getting teary and frustrated. In some ways, that’s infinitely preferable to him bottling it all up, for whatever reason.

“Not… recently.” Stan tells them, eyes cast down. He feels, perhaps irrationally, perhaps not, that they can just look at him and know all the terrible things he has done. He wants to pull the blanket over his head and disappear forever.

“Is there– I mean, not to pry, obviously, but is there any particular… reason? He’d really like to see you, I think, whenever you’re ready.” Mike tells him. He doesn’t sound angry or judgemental or anything else that would make Stan cringe in shame and embarrassment, but that’s only because Mike is too nice. He always has been. If any one of his friends weren't as kind as they are, it would be a different story entirely.

“I just…” to Stan’s utter humiliation, his bottom lip trembles whenever he tries to speak. He catches it between his teeth and takes a slow, steady breath. “I’d like to see him, yeah.” Stan says, hoping his voice doesn’t waver. “It’s just– I was a real asshole to him. Y’know, _ before.” _

Eddie and Mike exchange a very unstable glance before Eddie sighs and perches on the edge of Stan’s bed. He reaches out to take Stan’s hand, and Mike takes the other. A fat tear rolls down Stan’s cheek and he exhales shakily, chest heaving. 

“Stan, dude.” Eddie says in a soft, tender voice that he only uses in the direst of situations. “There is no right and wrong in this situation, okay? If it was Bev or Richie or even me in that bed, you wouldn’t hate us for it, would you?”

“Of course not.” Stan breathes, words almost inaudible. He wonders if they can feel his pulse racing in the palm of his hand. 

“See? Stan, Bill doesn’t think you’re an asshole. He thinks he’s the asshole. And he misses you.”

“Listen,” Mike takes over, shuffling closer. There’s no room for him on the bed but Stan feels his closeness as if they were hugging. “Whatever you want to do, we’ll support you. But ignoring Bill won’t make the problems disappear, okay? You’ll just be down a friend into the shitty bargain.”

Stan nods slowly, contemplatively. He squeezes their hands in turn, a silent thank you that he wouldn’t be able to say out loud without crying. They smile back at him, and he knows they get the message, knows that they feel the same no matter how far away they are.

“Guys,” He says, extricating a half to wipe across his wet eyes. “I think I’d like to talk to Bill.”

***

Bill takes Stan’s breath away as soon as he walks in the door. Stan has seen him over FaceTime and has heard his voice over the phone - _ one time too many, _ a vindictive voice in the back of his mind whispers - and of course he’s flicked through his old pictures of Bill three times a day since he left, but nothing compares to actually seeing Bill in person.

In the flesh, right in front of him, Bill is hopelessly safe, wonderfully familiar. Stan had been afraid that he would walk in the room a complete stranger, but he’s the same old Bill that Stan had fallen in love with. He’s a little taller, a little broader, his hair a little longer, but he’s still _ Bill. _ He still has the same pinched expression as always when he gets worried, he still has the same breathtaking smile. 

“Stan,” Bill clenches his jaw so hard that Stan can see the muscle in his cheek ticking. He takes a few staggering steps towards the bed and then stops as though re-evaluating and deciding that he should probably hang back. Stan’s heart aches in his chest.

“Hey, Bill.” Stan smiles hopefully, eyes misting with tears already. God, he thought he’d be able to get over this but he’s fucked it up already. He really is pathetic.

The sight of Stan in the hospital bed appears to be too much for Bill; Stan isn’t an idiot, he knows how he looks with the bandages off and his hair plastered to his sweaty forehead. He just hadn’t realised it would affect Bill in such a strong way.

In some strange, sick way, Stan feels a little better. Bill still cares about him, still wants something to do with him. That’s better than him hating Stan and only showing up to berate him for breaking them up over the phone.

“How are you feeling?” Bill asks, taking a tentative seat at Stan’s side. He keeps his legs pressed together and clasps his hands in his lap. He’s the one thing Stan never wanted him to be: uncomfortable. Uncomfortable around _ Stan. _

“Good, yeah. Better. Less tired now, y’know?” Stan laughs a little stiffly. Bill nods and stares at his shoes, throat bobbing up and down. His features twitch, barely noticeable but still an expression of panicked anxiety.

“That’s good,” Bill nods encouragingly. He sounds too enthusiastic to be genuine. Stan can’t stand the awkward tension between them; he hadn’t been planning to cave so soon, had been hoping if they just ignored the elephant in the room that they could get on like they always used to, but with Bill right in front of him…

He can’t not.

“Bill, I’m so sorry.” He says, in a rush to get the words out. “I’m _ so _sorry, I never meant to hurt you. I should never have made that fucking call. I– I made a mistake. All of this was just a mistake, okay? I thought I wanted this but I really don’t–”

_ “Stan!” _Bill cries, looking up for the first time since he sat down. It takes Stan off guard: Bill has tears in his eyes and he looks at Stan like he’s imploring him. Stan would do anything he wanted, if he just knew how Bill was feeling.

“Don’t do that,” he continues. “Don’t lie to me. I love you, Stan, and I’m never going to stop loving you. And if you still want to break up then I’ll respect that, I p-promise.”

“I don’t–” Stan tries to speak but Bill isn’t finished yet. He talks over Stan’s interruption with only the slightest shake in his voice.

“But please, please don’t lie to me Stan. This wasn’t a mistake. This was– you wanted to do this, didn’t you? I just– you promised you’d talk to me if it got bad again, Stanley. If you never want to talk to me again then I get it, but please talk to _ someone. _I don’t know what I’d do if this– if it happened again.”

Bill sits back in his seat, exhausted, chest heaving like he’s just run a marathon. It probably feels like that, Stan reasons. It took Bill years to conquer his stutter and he still speaks slowly and in short, staccato sentences to avoid slipping up. That probably took an immense amount of effort and concentration on Bill’s part.

Stan swallows, his throat rough and stinging with tears. He doesn’t know how to reply to that in a way that won’t make him seem even more of an asshole, and he can only apologise so much before it starts to seem disingenuous.

“You’re right,” he says slowly, picking his words carefully like he’s always seen Bill do. “I’m sorry. I won’t lie to you, Bill. I don’t– I don’t ever want to lie to you. I should have told you, or at least someone. It just…”

_ Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t fucking cry– _

“It just _ sucked, _okay? I just wanted everything to slow down. I’m sorry.” Tears spill down his cheeks and he lets out a small sound of frustration, clenching his hands into fists around the duvet.

“Stop apologising,” Bill tells him, and now he’s crying too and Stan never wanted that. He never really wanted to make Bill upset, _ never _wanted to make him cry. “I don’t want you to apologise. I just want you to promise.”

Stan peers up at him with wet eyes, wondering how Bill can ever trust Stan’s promises again after this. But he isn’t backing down or changing his mind, he isn’t telling Stan he hates him. Could it be that… Stan hasn’t fucked everything up quite yet?

“I promise,” Stan whispers, suddenly realising how close they are since Bill started to cry. He must have been gravitating towards, pulled by the same kind of invisible string that always draws Stan to Bill. “I promise, Bill.”

He really means it as well. 

Then he leans forward and kisses Bill on the mouth. 

Bill doesn’t jerk backwards in disgust or anything like that so Stan doesn’t see it as a failure, exactly. He does kiss back, which is wonderful, but he does so chastely. He doesn’t try to add tongue or taste Stan, which he usually does, even if they aren’t about to get each other off. Instead he keeps his lips closed and brings a hand up to stroke his knuckles down Stan’s cheek, a gesture so familiarly tender that it brings another wave of tears to Stan’s eyes.

“I love you,” Stan whispers against Bill’s lips once they’ve separated. 

“I love you too,” Bill replies on a sigh, and Stan can hear the ‘but’ coming before he even opens his eyes. “But I think we should wait until things are back to normal.”

“What do you mean?” Stan asks in a small voice, in place of asking, ‘don’t you want me?’

Bill wets his lips and presses his forehead to Stan’s. “Just that it’s been crazy stressful for you lately. We definitely need to talk about things. A lot of things. And I don’t think a hospital is the best place to do that.”

Stan wants to complain because he wants to hear Bill say ‘I love you’ again, but he gets where he’s coming from. A hospital is neither the most romantic nor appropriate place to have a serious conversation about your relationship, what with nurses coming in every five minutes to check up on him. Besides, his parents will be coming back any minute now; his relationship with them has steadily been improving since the non-conversation he had with his father, and he doesn’t want to put that under strain by presenting Bill to them all over again.

“Okay,” Stan agrees in the end, sneaking one more quick kiss before he pulls away and settles against the pillows. “Okay, later. We’ll talk.”

“We’ll talk,” Bill agrees, taking Stan’s hand, and he starts to smile.

***

Going home feels disconcerting after the time Stan has spent in the hospital. After the bright lights and the constant beeping machines, the dull darkness of his bedroom seems like a drastic, depressing change. Stan doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel. Should this be a welcome change? Or should he be more upset that he now has to use the same bathroom that he tried to kill himself in?

He probably should have thought of that first, but he hadn’t really been thinking very clearly.

His parents aren’t usually big celebrators, but when it comes to Hanukkah they tend to go all out. It falls early this year, and Stan had been planning to spend the twenty-fifth with the Losers. Richie has a big house and absentee parents; even if he doesn’t celebrate Christmas, cooking with his friends is always an unmissable experience.

This time, though, his parents clearly haven’t had time to decorate. There are no candles, no seasonal cards from distant relatives Stan has never met. He feels tight, sick guilt settle again in his chest at the reminder of all the distress he caused.

“Are we, um– are we celebrating this year?” Stan asks tentatively, setting his bag of dirty clothes down on the floor of the living room. His mother pauses, turns to him a little guilty and smiles.

“If you feel up to it, sweetie.” She says, glancing at Stan’s father who is still yet to react. Stan watches nervously, worrying already that he’s said the wrong thing. Does being back home mean that things are going to just revert back to the way they were? Is he going to feel the same way he used to feel? Just because he has a therapy session in two days time doesn’t mean anything will necessarily _ improve. _

Stan takes a deep breath. He needs to get himself under control, get a reign on his emotions so his moods are more stable. That’s what Karl says, anyway, and Stan values his advice these days.

_ Deep breath in, _ Stan thinks. _ Seven seconds in, ten seconds out, repeat. Calm down. _

The panic that threatened to boil over just moments ago ebbs slowly and surely, fizzles away to a small, consistent hum. His father turns to face him. He smiles, even though it looks awkward and a little pained on his face.

“If you want, Stanley.” He says. “Only if you want.”

Stan calls his friends over to decorate the next day. There isn’t much to put up but there’s a lot of food to make, and Stan doesn’t want to heap any more responsibility onto his parents. 

Spending the night in his own bed had been a dream come true after the lumpy mattress at the hospital, but he had felt weird when he’d woken up. Not quite empty, but drained, with a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest that only went away when he got up and switched all the lights on and off twice. He hasn’t had to do that in a long time, and it reminds him to take his meds. He feels strangely proud of himself.

His friends start showing up one by one. Stan is worried that it’s going to feel awkward after having seen them all last time in a hospital room. He feels now like all the attention will be on him, and whilst it’s technically his house he’s invited them to and a Jewish celebration he’s invited them to prepare for, it still feels uncomfortable. 

Most of all he’s worried about Bill. It shouldn’t be awkward after what happened - they’ve kissed literally thousands of times before, after all - but Bill had said they would sort their relationship out when things went back to normal. Stan is out of the hospital now– does that constitute normal?

_ He’s going to tell you he doesn’t want you. Why would he? You’re just– _

The doorbell rings. Stan thinks about how happy he’s going to be to see all his friends together at the same time again, and it almost drowns out the sound of his negative thoughts. His friends piling noisily inside helps.

The next few hours feel like the most chaotic of Stan’s life. He’s torn between feeling so completely full of love and affection for his friends and full of frustration because how could he ever have doubted that these people love him? He’s known them his entire life and they leave for a few months and suddenly his insecurity skyrockets. Stan doesn’t want to live like that, his own safety dependent on other people. He wants to start living for himself, properly this time.

Turns out you actually have to put in the work for that. Who knew?

It’s only after everything has calmed down and they’re lounging around in the sitting room with hot chocolates that Stan lets himself relax. It’s been hectic but it’s been wonderful, the opportunity to just exist as a part of something again. He’s missed it, and he doesn’t have to feel guilty for enjoying it.

“So,” Richie sets his mug down and wipes his lenses with his sleeve. “If anyone else has a mental breakdown scheduled anytime soon, please announce it in the group chat. This has been fun and all but I don’t think my body can cope with another three hours of cooking.”

“That’s because your body is inferior.” Eddie crosses his legs and licks the cream off his lip. “And you should come to the disease prevention society with me.”

“Your head and my ass, Kaspbrak.” Richie grins. Stan can’t help but laugh along with the others. 

Next to him on the sofa, Bill’s hand settles over Stan’s own. They haven’t spoken privately all night but things haven’t been awkward either; if anything, Stan has been invigorated by their kiss in the hospital. Seeing Bill’s fingers brush softly over the back of Stan’s hand, seeing the tentative smile he offers, Stan feels safe. It’s a promise of later, a promise to talk more, a promise to heal.

Stan flips his palm and intertwines his fingers with Bill’s, holds his hand tight.

Things are going to get better, Stan thinks. Things are going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think! <3


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